


Everything that used to matter, don't matter no more

by crookedspoon



Series: [1mw] Weekend Feeling [50]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Burns, Joseph Kavinsky is His Own Warning, M/M, POV Prokopenko, POV Second Person, Possibly Unrequited Love, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 03:23:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11523507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedspoon/pseuds/crookedspoon
Summary: "I'm dying, man. Whatisthat?" He scrubs his fingers over his breastbone, just below his gold chain. "I tried everything. I can't make it go away."





	Everything that used to matter, don't matter no more

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jbird181](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jbird181/gifts).



> Fills the prompts #77 "Army of Darkness" at 1mw's [weekend challenge](http://1-million-words.livejournal.com/2080843.html?thread=20074571#t20074571) and "Anhedonia (Lack of Pleasure)" at genprompt-bingo round 12.
> 
> I wrote the beginning of this back in March, but couldn't decide what universe to use it for. I originally filed it under JGM, but it could fit in others as well. (That's what you get for juggling so many ideas.) Initially, I wrote this for a slashthedrabble prompt, hence the 500 words.

You're dozing quite nicely, head dangling off the backseat of your car, grinning into your half-formed dreams, when the joint is ripped from your fingertips and you're suddenly drowning.

You splutter and cough and spin around to get the liquid out of your nose and _fuck,_ that shit is even burning in your throat. 

Above you, K is taking a swig from the bottle you've been sharing. For a moment, you think he's going to hit you with it, but he's just squatting down next to you, leaning against the wheel.

"K, you ass," you rasp between coughs. "Wasn't killing me once enough for you?"

He's banging his head back against the car and it's pounding through yours. "I'm dying, man. What _is_ that?" He scrubs his fingers over his breastbone, just below his gold chain. "I tried everything. I can't make it go away."

"Can't stop thinking about him?"

Kavinsky groans and takes another drag.

"I'm no expert, but I think that's called being in love." You've barely said it when there's a hiss and your arm is flaring in pain. "Ow! Fuck, K, you son of a _bitch._ Just 'cause you're lovesick doesn't mean you get to take it out on me."

You scramble for a bottle of water and thank your own foresight that keeps your car stocked – for rehydrating after drunken nights, not necessarily for cleaning wounds, but with friends like yours, you never know. You should have some ointment from Skov's latest tattoo in there too somewhere.

K flicks open his zippo and stares into the flame. He lets it kiss his fingertips, a lingering caress to each. Then he flicks it shut, holding it out to you, an invitation to get even.

"Can't be any worse than this," he says with a broken-zippered smile.

"No thanks." Once you're done soothing the fire in your arm, you splash your face and throw K an unopened bottle. "Here, time to get sober."

K lets it fall into his lap and sucks his thumb into his mouth. "If it's this bad when I'm high, I don't ever wanna come down again."

"Jesus, you sound fucking pathetic," you say and kick him in the knee, careful of your balance. You've faceplanted more times than you care to count after stunts like this. Even drunk off their asses, your friends manage to one-up you by catching your foot.

"Not even half as pathetic as I feel, man." He spits and blows on his thumb before sucking on it again. He must have burned himself when he burned you. Serves him right.

"Pussy therapy not working?" You grab his wrist and pour some water over his fingers.

"Hasn't for—I don't know how long. Let's change the subject." His wet fingers clench around yours.

"Evil Dead marathon at my place?"

K merely nods. You sigh. For his sake you wish Lynch would just come around and fuck this obsession out of him. Maybe then he could get back to normal.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "U Got It Bad" by Usher (couldn't resist).
> 
> Thanks for reading! As always, find me on [tumblr](https://crookedspoonfic.tumblr.com), if that's your thing. :)


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